Backpack and Buzzers
by eyesocketsandsuits
Summary: [[ UsUk ; AU ]] "And that's your first challenge," the host concluded. Everyone gave a serious nod. Alfred had been zoning out. A buzzer behind the host counted down to zero, and then everyone standing on the beach turned and ran into the wilderness behind the pretty beach. Alfred looked at the host, at the cameras, gave a grin, and jogged after everyone.
1. One

Alfred F. Jones did a lot of things. After all, college was the universally accepted "place of experimentation." Then again, that phrase probably referred to figuring out career options or buying a usable car.

Alfred F. Jones did a lot of stupid things.

Alfred was having this revelation standing on a beach. It was a pretty beach, all things considered. It had nice, clean sand. And there were other, pretty people standing on the beach. They all looked serious. Correction: there was one average dude, but he looked pretty serious, too.

"And that's your first challenge," the host concluded.

Everyone gave a serious nod. Alfred had been zoning out. A buzzer behind the host counted down to zero, and then everyone standing on the beach turned and ran into the wilderness behind the pretty beach.

Alfred looked at the host, at the cameras, gave a grin, and jogged after everyone.

Alright. Well, there was a challenge. Probably about scavenging food or finding water or something equally as survival-y.

Alfred was catching up to the slower people from the beach. It was the average-but-serious guy from before. He sort of looked like a nerd. And then Alfred got the idea.

This show had a cash prize. Alfred assumed it was a lot, because he always sought out money when he was drunk, and so Alfred wanted the cash prize.

Alfred fell into step with the guy, smiling. "Yo."

The guy looked at Alfred like he was crazy.

Alfred nodded. "Cool. Look, I've always been more of a team player, so I'm going to stick around with you. I'm Alfred F. Jones."

The guy looked like the run was giving him some trouble. "We've… introduced ourselves… already," he panted.

"Oh, we did? Huh."

"Some team… player," the guy gasped.

"I didn't say I was a _good_ team player. So, uh, what're we doing? Like, what's the goal? Is it like _Hunger Games_? Just go until we die of a wolf pack or…?"

"I'm not bloodying helping you!" the guy yelled, bending over to catch his breath. "Fuck… off."

"You fuck off. What's the goal?" Alfred looked around. "Oh, shit, look, a backpack."

The guy gaped as Alfred walked over and picked up a camouflaged backpack. He held it up for the serious guy to look at, then opened it.

"Food!" Alfred held up the chocolate bars. "Chocolate!"

The guy stared. "That was the first challenge."

"Chocolate?"

"No, finding the fucking backpack."

Alfred looked at the backpack, then back at the guy. He held the backpack closer to him. "Well, I bet you feel like a jackass. Telling me to fuck off, and now look." Alfred shook the backpack.

The guy's eyes flicked from the backpack to Alfred, and he _frowned_. Alfred grinned.

"I bet you want to team up _now_ , don't you?"

The guy gritted his teeth. "My name is Arthur."

"I'm Alfred F. Jones."

"I know!"

Alfred hugged the backpack closer. "You're not getting any chocolate if you're a little bitch."

Arthur closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and opened them. "Yes. You're right. We should get back to the beach."

Alfred frowned. "I have the backpack. I'm the leader of this team. I say we head deeper into the woods."

"Good God, do you not know what the fucking challenge is? We're supposed to grab a backpack and return to the beach as fast as possible." Arthur was gritting his teeth again.

"Oh. Okay." Alfred nodded. "Back to the beach, then." He started jogging.

" _Other way_!" Arthur shouted.

Alfred rolled his eyes, turned on his heel, and jogged past Arthur. "Excuse me!"

Arthur ran next to him, and it took a minute before he started panting. Alfred looked around, hit Arthur's arm, and then pointed.

"A monkey!"

Arthur gave him a withering look, which was pretty impressive considering he was disheveling and disgusting and looked sort of like a nerd. He ran on, and Alfred followed reluctantly after.

"You don't have to be such a bitch about it, you know. How often do you see monkeys in England, huh?"

They arrived on the beach, and the buzzer behind the host rang. Alfred grinned at the cameras as they jostled closer, looked at Arthur, who was much less eager at the close-ups. The host came forward, nodding.

"Congratulations, Alfred! You've won the first challenge!"

Alfred nodded. "Actually, it's me and Arthur. We teamed up."

The host's smile faltered. "You what?"

"Yeah. Him and me. I literally have no idea what I'm doing, but Arthur kinda' looks like he knows this sort of stuff."

The cameras swung around to observe Arthur. Arthur looked horrified, the guy's ears turning red. Alfred coughed, and the cameras swung around back to him, and he grinned again.

"Do we get a prize?" Alfred asked the host.

The host blinked at him. "The backpack was the prize. There are only three, and they have a multitude of essentials none of the other contestants have."

Alfred looked at the backpack, to Arthur, to the host. "Can we get another prize?"

Arthur stomped over, grabbed the backpack, and walked back into the woods. Alfred followed behind, asking for the chocolate, but Arthur was living up to his title of "Little Bitch" and refused to give him any.

"Why are you even _in_ this?!" Arthur snapped, whirling on Alfred. "What's in it for you, besides attention?"

Alfred looked around the jungle and shrugged. "I, uh, signed up by accident. I think. I was really drunk. Is there a cash prize?"

"Yes. It goes to charity."

Alfred slumped. "Oh."

"You're an _asshole_!"

"Really? What're you doing it for then? Huh?"

Arthur's face was getting red again. "The only person I ever loved died. I'm going to win and contribute to the hospital that tried to save him."

That caught Alfred a little off guard. "So you signed up for a _gameshow_?"

Arthur didn't have a response to that. He leaned against a tree, then slid down, glaring up at Alfred. It was suddenly very quiet. The buzzer at the beach went off again. Alfred sat down near Arthur.

"How else was I going to get the money?"

Alfred looked at him. "What?"

"How else was I going to thank the hospital? I'm a fucking immigrant to this shitty country, I had no money, and then I get a call that my… That he was dying, and by the time I had scrapped up anything to try and help, he was dead."

"A gameshow?"

Arthur glanced at Alfred. "You're not the only one who has stupid ideas when you're drunk."

"That's really fucking sad." Alfred nodded. "Alright, well, you're going to win then."

Arthur almost sneered. "What?"

"I'm going to make sure you win, because that was really sad. You have my pity." Alfred threw his hands in the air. "Woo! Get pumped!"

Arthur did sneer this time. "Thanks."

"You say that now, but you're going to feel really stupid when I win this for you. You're probably going to cry."

Arthur gave him a strange look. "Thank you. I think."

Alfred shrugged. "Give me chocolate."


	2. Two

**I just needed this.**

* * *

The jungle had been really nice in the day time. Sure, a little muggy, but Alfred was a God damned southern boy, and God damned southern boys aren't concerned with a little heat and mug.

But night was becoming a different story. Alfred, a God damned southern boy, needed heat to function. And it was getting cold as the sun set. Alfred could even feel goosebumps.

"It's cold."

Arthur barely glanced up. The stick-part of the tent seemed to break in the middle, and Arthur threw it down. "Fuck."

Alfred watched. "Are you cold? Because it's getting kinda' chilly. I'm getting goosebumps."

"Fuck," Arthur replied.

Alfred nodded. "We should make a fire."

"You should help me build this fucking tent!" The stick-part bent again, and Arthur breathed through his teeth. " _Fuck_!"

"I told you," Alfred scratched at a bug bite, "it's gay."

"Sharing a tent is not gay!"

"Look, I'm not saying things aren't different in England, but here in the States—"

"We're in South America, you idiot—"

Alfred spoke louder. " _Here_ in the _States_ , sharing a tent is considered gay."

It was impressive how Alfred could still see Arthur's glare, what with his glasses fogging up and the twilight and the bangs in Arthur's face.

"Funny, I wouldn't consider _you_ having an issue with homosexuals."

Now, college was indeed a place for "experimentation," but that was one time. Alfred slapped at the bug bite again.

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

Arthur raised one shoulder in a lazy shrug. "Oh, nothing." The fucker grinned like he had said something funny. "You just… _try_ a little hard."

"Your eyebrows are big."

Arthur frowned. "I'm sorry?"

"Your eyebrows. Ever heard of man-scaping?"

The tent-stick poked half-heartedly through the cheap, tent material.

"This is useless," Arthur muttered. "Please, please set up the tent."

"I'm cold."

Arthur threw the tent-stick at him. "You're stupid!"

"At least I can set up a tent!"

"Prove it!"

"No. You've already lost the backpack privileges, I'm not helping you set up _my_ tent!"

Arthur pressed the palms of his hands into his eyes. Alfred clutched the backpack, watching Arthur's shoulders rise and fall. Faintly, through the creaking and rustling of the trees, Alfred could hear…

"Are you counting to one hundred?"

Arthur looked up. "Will you concede to building a fire?"

Alfred pointed. "You _are_ cold!"

"Of course I'm bloody cold! We're in the middle of a fuckin' forest, sweat cooling me down, in shorts and a fucking t-shirt! I'm hungry and tired and fuck, fuckity cold!" Arthur hid his face again. This time, the count stopped at thirty and lapsed into quiet.

Alfred shifted. He didn't like the silence. He was hungry and tired, and he was most definitely cold.

"Yeah, I'll build a fire."

Arthur looked up. "Thank God."

Alfred stood. Arthur stared at him like he grew a second head.

"Where are you going?"

Alfred tried to get the backpack on, but the straps had apparently been set for a midget, because he felt like a kindergartener with it on—the strap hit the back of his neck. His shirt rode up, and Alfred grunted, switching the backpack to his other shoulder and trying to loosen—

"What?"

"Where are you _going_?"

Alfred looked back at Arthur. "All this wood is alive."

Arthur struggled after him, the tent and all its various sticks following like some sort of demented insect. "Where the fuck are you going?"

"The beach."

Arthur cursed, and Alfred heard a heavy thump, but by the time he turned back around, Arthur was just following along, hauling the demented insect.

" _Why_?"

Alfred sighed deeply. "Because all the drift wood is fucking _dead_ , dumbfuck."

"It's out in the open, though."

"So?"

"What do you mean _so_?" Arthur snarled.

But Alfred was done with that conversation, so he picked up the pace, and soon Arthur was screaming for Alfred to _slow down_ and _you're going to get us disqualified_ and _you're a muscled buffoon_ , and all sorts of other silly, English slurs.

The beach was even colder than the jungle. Alfred threw down the backpack and began to gather wood. By the time Arthur made it to him, wheezing and somehow, impossibly, soaked in sweat _again_ , Alfred had arranged the wood into a neat teepee.

Arthur collapsed onto the sand. "What… are… you—" How could a man be so out of shape? "—doing?"

"Making a fire," Alfred snapped, clicking two stones together and creating a spark.

Alfred was tired, and a tired Alfred was one who didn't feel like explaining fire setting-up to dumbfuck Englishmen.

"Good luck. You don't even have a—"

The tinder—the chocolate wrappers—caught, and Alfred blew gently on the flames.

"—firestarter," Arthur finished lamely.

The salt-soaked wood burned happily. Soon, they had a decent fire going, and Alfred started wishing he had some marshmallows and graham crackers to go along with the chocolate. Then he remembered he ate all the fucking chocolate.

"Fuck."

Arthur raised an eyebrow at him. He opened his mouth, shut it, then parroted: "Fuck."

"Did you want s'mores too?"

"Hello, boys."

Alfred turned. What faced him was one of the most jacked women Alfred had ever seen. Even in the firelight, this lady's muscles _gleamed_ , her legs strong pillars. Her hair was pulled back into a professional braid. She was holding a pointed stick in Alfred's face.

"Holy shit! You're ripped!"

"I'm going to need that backpack and tent."

Alfred's face fell. "No?"

"Alfred, this is what I was talking about! We're out in the open, and now we're being attacked!"

Alfred looked over his shoulder. "Isn't that against the rules or something?"

The fire crackled, the waves crashed, no one answered Alfred for a long minute.

"Does… Does he not know what show he's on?" the lady asked.

Arthur's lips pursed. "It's _not_ against the rules!" he hissed.

Alfred looked back at the lady. "Oh. Then _fuck_ no."

She poked him with the stick. Alfred slapped it away.

"Don't poke me with the stick!"

"Give me your tent and backpack."

Alfred tried to stand, but impossibly fast, the lady flipped the stick around and slammed the blunt end into Alfred's shoulder. He lost his balance and fell back on his ass.

This happened three more times.

"Fuck you!"

Alfred was powerless in the face of this lady and her fucking stick.

"I'll let you up if you give me the tent and backpack."

Alfred was breathing heavy. He made sure his eyes were locked on the lady, and then he lunged, threw the backpack over his shoulder.

It made an elegant arc over the fire, and landed in Arthur's lap.

Arthur blinked down at it.

" _Run_!" Alfred screamed.

Arthur blinked at Alfred.

The circuit connected, and Arthur stumbled in the sand. He almost fell on his face, but he managed to scramble away. Alfred cheered, threw his fists up in the air. _Fuck_ that lady!

And then that lady ran after Arthur. Her strong, Amazonian legs propelled her like some sort of sand Jet Ski. Arthur didn't even make it halfway back to the forest before the stick hit him in the back of the knee and he faceplanted.

" _God damn it, Arthur_!"

Faintly: "Fuck _you_!"

The lady scooped up the backpack and easily jogged away. Well, not so easily at first, because Arthur did try to hold on for like, three seconds, but then his finger strength failed and she jogged away into the night like a bat.

If bats could run.

Alfred was fucking tired.

Arthur walked back to the fire, a defeated man.

"I cannot believe you couldn't outrun a girl."

Arthur looked at Alfred, sat down, lay down on his side, and closed his eyes.


	3. Three

Alfred was trying to crack open a coconut. His head was pounding, and he had been to enough football games drunk to know when he was dehydrated.

Arthur had found the coconut, but he was utterly useless, so he was just sitting in the shade and watching Alfred try to crack open the coconut like a useless sack of shit. Boss him around to put up a tent, boss him around to make a fire, boss him around to crack open a coconut he hadn't even _found_ —Alfred knew his rights, and Arthur was violating them.

But he was also dehydrated. So he was trying to crack open the coconut.

"So," Alfred began, going at the husk again for with the sharpest stone he had found, "like, you knew someone who… you know."

Arthur didn't even open his eyes. "I cannot believe you are speaking English even less coherently than you normally do."

At least Alfred didn't have a stupid _accent_. "I'm trying to— _bond_ with you."

Arthur cracked open an eyelid. "Oh? Why don't you bond with the coconut, because we're both dehydrated."

The coconut was about to be chucked at Arthur's head. "Look, we're on a _team_ , like it or not. And on a _team_ , you have to _bond_. We gotta' plan out maneuvers and gameplans and chart plays, and we can't do that if we're actively trying to murder each other. So, who the hell died?"

Arthur's eyes snapped open. "That's none of your business." He was sitting all proper-like, back ramrod straight. "And frankly, rather rude."

"We're on a _team_ , dude! Who the hell died!"

"You're about to!" Arthur snarled.

"You said it was a he, so, what—dad? Brother? Cousin? Coach?"

Arthur glared at him, face flushing. "Shut up, Alfred."

The coconut lay abandoned on the sand. "Oh, come _on_ Arthur. _Everyone_ has someone who kicked the bucket and they feel bad about, it's like—"

Arthur scrambled up and jumped on Alfred.

What the fuck? What the fuck was this little _shit_ doing? Alfred stared up at Arthur—who had his legs wrapped around Alfred's chest, pinning him down with his bodyweight—and was baffled.

Arthur was raining down blows on Alfred's head. Fucking _ow_.

"You _sucker-punched me_!" Alfred bellowed. "What a cheap—"

Arthur punched Alfred in the mouth. Alfred bit his tongue.

But Alfred had gotten into his fair share of brawls, and the dumb fuck on top of him was balanced back on his legs now, and it didn't take very much for Alfred to flip him over because Alfred's legs were, like, ten times stronger than his arms, anyways.

Alfred slammed down on Arthur, immobilizing him. His mouth was by Arthur's ear.

"Hey," Alfred hissed, "I'm stealing the coconut."

Arthur let out an offended _uch_ noise and bit Alfred's ear.

" _Shit_!" Alfred threw himself backwards. "You _bit_ me? Are you fucking rabid? Am I going to have _rabies_ now because you're disgusting? What the _fuck_ that's not cool!"

Arthur scrambled away through the sand on his back, breathing heavily. " _Fuck_ you it's _my_ coconut."

Alfred flipped him off.

Arthur made a face. "Mature."

"Yeah, says the dude who _bit_ me!"

"It's _my_ coconut!" Arthur snarled.

Alfred stood up—shakily, the adrenaline—and threw his hands in the air. "Alright _fine_! I'm sorry your dad died, and keep the fucking coconut! Also, good luck surviving! I may not know the _rules_ of whatever show we're on, but I'm a fuckin' Eagle scout, so—so—"

Alfred turned and walked away.

The sand scalded his feet, the sun made his headache ten times worse, but he was free of that fucking douchebag, so whatever! It was a good day! A great day!

Alfred had been walking for ten minutes—well, actually, he had no idea because he didn't have his stupid phone—and it was the best ten minutes he had ever had since he arrived on this island. No nagging, no arguments! Just the sun and the surf to his right, calming negative ions from the sea.

Woo!

And now that he was…

Wait what?

Who the hell was running at him?

No, who the hell was _sprinting_ at him?

Alfred stopped. As the guy got closer, Alfred realized that yeah, he had no idea who the hell that was. He was tan and had brown hair, and he was probably the most generic dude ever. He was also holding a large rock in his hand, so that was probably less than ideal.

Alfred held up his hands, got as far as a, "Wait, let's talk—" and was promptly tackled for the second time in a fifteen-minute period.

" _Ow_!"

"Hey!" the generic dude said. "Sorry, didn't see you."

The rock was resting menacingly on top of Alfred's forehead; he didn't really believe that, sue him. "Oh, yeah, I also run into people holding a big ass rock all the time, no biggie."

"Alfred, right?" generic dude asked.

"Yeah."

Generic dude stared down at him. "Do you remember who I am? You don't, do you?" He had a lisp, but that didn't trigger any helpful memories.

The rock pressed down a little harder on Alfred's head. "No, I totally remember you."

Generic dude grinned. "Oh, cool!"

He stood and allowed Alfred up, even though Alfred was sure the rock was going to imbed itself in the back of his head as soon as he took his eyes off the Generic Dude. He didn't, so Alfred survived.

"Hot, huh?" Generic dude asked.

"Yeah, you know." Alfred scratched the back of his head. God, the dude's name was on the tip of his tongue. "We're south, or whatever."

"Do you have any water?"

Alfred blinked. Then grinned. "No, but Arthur does, back that way." He gestured over his shoulder.

Generic dude nodded. "Okay, thanks." He smiled and jogged off.

What a pleasant encounter. Yeah, let crazy generic guy with a big ass rock take the coconut from Arthur. That would serve him right.

Douchebag.

Alfred hadn't continued to walk. He was staring after generic dude. A lisp. Brown hair. He had green eyes too. Wait, did Arthur have green eyes? That's weird, Alfred didn't usually notice eye color.

Ha, maybe the big scary rock could crack open the coconut.

Huh. Were coconuts harder than a human skull? There's no way, right? Like, evolution or god or whatever wouldn't make that a… make that a _thing_ , right?

Oh fuck. Oh fuck fuck fuck fuck _fuck_. Fuck it all, Alfred felt _bad_ sending generic dude after Arthur. And if Arthur fucking _died_ , which he fucking _would_ , because generic dude had a fucking _rock_ , Alfred would have to feel _bad_ about it.

"Fuck," Alfred groaned. "Fuck fuck," he said, turning around and starting to walk after generic dude. " _Fuck_ man!" Alfred broke into a sprint.

* * *

 **There's a volcano next chapter if anyone can convince me to uHhHhH fuckin' update**


End file.
